It’s Saturday morning, and I just finished cleaning up the dishes from a semi-wholesome breakfast, only to come around the corner and see a large brown mass taking up a significant portion of the couch. Upon further inspection, I see that the large mass covered by a cozy brown fleece blanket is, in fact, moving up and down in a rhythmic pattern. You guessed it—there’s an adult man under there, and that man is my husband.
Wives hold a particular level of disdain for napping husbands. See, the last time most moms took a nap was about three nevers ago. So when I catch my husband snoozing away while chaos unfolds in my house, I have a few thoughts.
1. Dude, it’s 9:00 a.m. You’ve been awake for a whopping 2.5 hours. The sun is barely up, yet you’re already counting sheep again. WTF. Would an afternoon nap be less irritating? No, but let’s pretend.
2. Your fake sleeping through the atomic bomb that is three small kids set loose after sugary cereal, is not amusing. Ain’t no way you’re actually able to sleep when there’s a baby crying, and two preschoolers fighting over whose Barbie gets to sit in the front of the convertible. And if you are actually sleeping…I hate you.
3. Ah, I see you rolled off the couch onto the floor in attempt to appease the crying baby. Now he can climb and play on you while you sleep. How considerate of you.
4. Wait a minute. What’s that I hear? Are you freaking snoring? You better cut that shit out pronto because a snoring husband is like adding insult to injury. Go ahead and throw some more salt on the wound, compadre. If you snoozing on the couch wasn’t enough to make my blood boil, the sound of sawing wood just might be enough to make me come plug your nostrils with Play-Doh.
5. Don’t worry, Imma let you take this nap. It will be the perfect thing to hold over your head for the rest of the day. Passive aggressive much? You bet.
6. I get it, you had a long week. But so did I! I thoroughly look forward to the day that we can nap together on lazy weekend days. But now is not that time. Shit needs done, and I could use some help. You know all those T-shirts you throw in the laundry after wearing them for an hour? Someone’s gotta fold them. Our preschooler wants someone to do a puzzle with her, and our middle child needs more supervision than a death row inmate.
7. Well, hello there, Sunshine, nice to see you’re alive. Ninety-five minutes must have been the magic number to which your brain remembered that you signed up for this beautiful thing called equal parenting. But, please, spare me the overly dramatic wake up. I’m pretty sure you weren’t just three levels down in an “Inception” dream with Leonardo DiCaprio.
It’s not fair that men can fall asleep the minute their asses hit a flat surface. And you’d think that they’d get that nothing throws us into full blown mom rage more than watching them catch some zzz’s while we carry on running a household. Don’t they know what sets us off? Apparently not. Because emerging from a nap on a Saturday morning is typically followed by a 40-minute trip to the bathroom.